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Ding Dong Ditching, Rice Krispie Torture, Music as Food, Sticker Shock

Ding Dong Ditching

 

About 20 kids live in our cul-de-sac.  On a normal day, 4-12 of them will be in my front yard playing, wrestling, riding bikes and scooters, water ballooning, arguing, etc.  Since I have 4 who play outside regularly, the kids are attracted to my kids and voila, I look outside and a herd of children has gathered.  I think they have radar.  One goes outside and stands on the sidewalk and pretty soon others sense his presence and come outside to play. 

 

Today a new game hit our little piece of the neighborhood.  It’s called Ding Dong Ditching.  Instead of ringing the doorbell and waiting like a normal person for me to answer and say, “They can’t come out until they’ve finished dinner.”  Never mind that they came inside two minutes earlier and everyone standing in the vicinity heard me announce dinner is ready.  Now they ring the doorbell and run away.  The two boys who thought up the game ran to the street in front of our house and pretended to play football while giggling hysterically at their cleverness.  After the second ring, I learned my lesson and didn’t answer again. 

 

As soon as the kids finished dinner it started again.  Apparently, my kids sent out a telepathic message that dinner was over.  At our house, when the door bell chimes, usually at least 2 children and sometimes 5, charge the door yelling, “Mimi, there is a kid at the door.  Can I answer it?”  I don’t let them answer if a grown up is knocking.  It probably sounds as though I am a control freak but if I don’t make them ask, they will head outside at their whim and I will have kids scattered without knowing where they are.  Also, my little ones haven’t met a stranger they don’t love.  Stranger Danger isn’t a concept that they’ve been able to embrace so they have to ask before yanking open the front door. 

 

Tonight the door bell chimed, 4 kids charged the door only to see an empty porch.  They exclaimed each time as though it hadn’t happened minutes before and might never happen again, “Mimi, we’ve been ding dong ditched, again!”  Then they discussed who was doing the ditching and plotted how to catch them and exact revenge.  In the process of the conversations they had to say “ding dong ditched” more times than I could possibly count because the alliteration elicited a little ding dong thrill deep in their psyches each time it was uttered.  I’m telling you, you haven’t lived until you’ve been ding dong ditched.

 

Rice Krispie Torture

 

My 19 year old and his girlfriend are torturing me.  They’ve discovered the ease and joy of freshly made Rice Krispie Treats.  Since they both have jobs, they have the pennies to buy the supplies and make them to their sweet tooth’s content.  My problem is that they don’t eat the whole pan.  No, they leave it sitting in plain sight, waiting for unsuspecting people like me who have no control over their Rice Krispie Treat urges to walk by.  Self discipline evaporates in the face of sweet, marshmallowy, warm, gooey, Rice Krispie Treats.  If you have only eaten the fake premade store bought Rice Krispie Treats, I urge you to hurry to your nearest grocery store for a box of Rice Krispies and a jar of marshmallow goo.  The recipe is on the box.  Hurry, don’t deny yourself!  You can thank me later. 

 

At my house though, they have to stop or my shorts aren’t going to fit no matter how far I run or how many sit ups I do.  Where’s a salad when I need one!

 

Music as Food

Now that summer has hit, my schedule has changed and I have to walk the dogs in the morning and do my exercise when it’s cooler.  If I am on top of things I can be out the door and back before the kids wake up.  First I walk the dogs and then I go for a run.  The first couple mornings I was hungry.  Not a little need-a-bite-to-eat hungry but tummy rumbling, low energy, wonder-if-I-have-the-ingredients-for-pancakes-and-sausage hungry.  Returning home for breakfast and coming back out wasn’t an option.  Once the kids are moving they need supervision while dressing, brushing teeth and hair and breakfast.  For them (they have food issues) hunger is a scary, bad place so I try to make sure they eat on a regular, reliable schedule.

Dealing with my hungries I made an amazing discovery.  Josh Groban can temporarily cure hunger.  If I concentrate on his rich full voice I can stop listening to my insistent stomach.  My reaction was visceral as the sound of his voice moved into my cells.  Since I noticed my physical reaction, I’ve been experimenting.  If I am not so hungry, I like music that tells a story, gives me something to think about.  Feeling tired, I like music that lifts me up.

 

I’ve always loved music and my iPod is filled almost to capacity with my favorites.  But I never realized how much music can influence moment to moment existence though I should have.  Have you ever had some young person pull up behind you at a stoplight and proceed to almost vibrate you off your seat with their bass pounding?  It doesn’t irritate me; it fills me with grab the steering wheel and hang on for dear life hate.  I am a live and let live type person, not prone to road rage or violent outbursts.  But let one of those booming vibrating cars pull up near me and I want to punch something, preferably their stereo system.   My immediate, strong reaction sails right over the top of normal for some reason.  It’s like the music goes into my interior self and I can’t get it out.  I guess if I ever face torture, loud, vibrating, repetitive, thumping music will either do me in or give me the strength to do in my captors.  My husband, on the other hand, could care less.  Maybe it’s a guy thing. 

 

My new goal is to figure out if music exists which can replace my love of Rice Krispie Treats and chocolate.  Josh Groban is good but he’s not that good.


Sticker Shock

My husband, a truck driver, called me yesterday afternoon to inform me that he was topping off his tanks.  Not completely filling mind you, but topping off.  As we were talking he mentioned that the pump price had just rolled through $950.00. 

Nine Hundred and Fifty Dollars!

Without thinking I yelled, “Stop!”

Nine Hundred and Fifty Dollars!  And the tanks weren’t even full.

“What?” he asked.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to have fuel.  But I just couldn’t fathom paying over a $1,000.00 at one shot.  Sticker shock got me.  I asked him not to tell me when he fuels again.  It hurts too much.

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